He watched, riveted as she tucked the flower behind the older lady’s ear. The duchess had not suffered a spell since Nora arrived.

He hated to think it, but he almost wished she was hurting so that Nora could attend to her, fix her and then be on her way, every tempting inch of her on her way back to her precious Brambledon.

Tempting.

God, no. He could not think about her in such terms. Just as he should not think of her in that dress from the other night.

Certainly she had looked as no country miss should look in that gown. She was young. He had thought that when he first met her. A young girl with no life experiences beyond that of her small village—someone who played at writing letters and signing her dead papa’s name to them.

He had at least a decade on her and he had not expected to feel a sharp stab of desire for her when he stumbled on her in the hall outside her bedchamber, looking like a luscious peach. Certainly, she was much too young for him. Except in that dress, she had looked ripe and ready. His teeth had ached looking at her. He’d longed for a taste.

The ladies turned and headed back to the house. Presumably, their stroll was over. His attempt to get any work accomplished was over, too.

“Blast it,” he muttered, pushing from the desk.

Nora had been stuck here since her arrival, playing companion to the duchess. She was probably feeling a bit hemmed in, too.

He found her and the duchess in the drawing room, a tea service between them. One of the maids was arranging a small plate of cakes and biscuits for the duchess.

“Ah, Constantine, come and join us,” the duchess greeted as her gaze alighted on him. She waved him over with an imperious hand. “We’ve not seen much of you. You’ve been working much too hard. It’s not healthy, you know.”

He sank down on a wingback chair across from them. “There is much I need to learn.”

“Well, you’ve always been a clever lad. I’m sure it won’t pose any difficulty for you. Don’t you agree, Nora?”

Nora blinked. “I did not know Mr. Sinclair as a lad, but I agree. He appears intelligent.”

Appears. She was comical.

The duchess nodded happily as she bit into a cake, oblivious to Nora’s mocking of him. “What plans have you, Mr. Sinclair?”

“I was thinking of a visit to Middlesex Hospital—”

“Oh. Indeed?” Nora’s entire body leaned forward in her seat, an eager light filling her eyes.

“Oh, dear.” The duchess frowned over the teacup she was lifting to her lips. “Is something amiss with you, too?”